


Forget Me Not

by darling_highness



Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: Angst, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Period-Typical Homophobia, Post-Season/Series 03, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-21
Updated: 2021-02-24
Packaged: 2021-03-12 17:47:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 10,616
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28889358
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/darling_highness/pseuds/darling_highness
Summary: Billy’s alive.He’s different- rougher around the edges, more easily rattled, fragile even- but he’s alive.Steve is grateful on one hand, and wary on the other. He can’t seem to stay out of the way of Billy’s destructive tendencies.What’s worst is Billy still seems to hate Steve, PASSIONATELY.
Relationships: Billy Hargrove/Steve Harrington
Comments: 23
Kudos: 86
Collections: Mad Wet Rat Boy and Fluffy haired Doofus





	1. Back

**Author's Note:**

> I’ll be uploading another chapter later this week!

Nobody knows how Billy survived that night at the mall. It’s the question doctors have been trying to solve for months, or so Steve is told.

The last time Steve actually saw Billy, he was in a body bag. He’s heard a rumor that Billy nearly gave the coroner a heart attack when he started banging on the door of the cadaver fridge in the morgue. The scientists observing Hawkins since The Incident brought Billy into the lab shortly after.

Joyce has been the one updating Steve as to Billy’s general existence, lately. Well, not _to_ Steve exactly. He’s with the kids all the time, which means when Joyce and Will come back from Will’s monthly checkup at the lab, Steve just so happens to overhear Joyce telling Max about her brother.

Visitors aren’t typically allowed in the lab, but Joyce refuses to let the doctors see Will alone. She’s one of the few outsiders that have been permitted inside since everything went down.

-

He sees Billy- actually _sees_ him- one hundred and eighty three days after The Incident. He’s working at the video store and the kids are there, eyes slightly bloodshot from staring at arcade games since ten that morning.

The rumble of a familiar sports car approaching distracts Steve from making sure the kids don’t knock the video shelves down like dominos.

It catches Max’s attention too. Steve finds her eyes on him, expression unreadable, but not for long.

Headlights glance over the front window, casting peculiar shadows over Max’s ever-sharpening cheeks. It is clear then, when the car parks, that their suspicions were correct. It’s Billy. 

Max run-walks towards the front door. She flings it open and is met by a tall figure unfolding itself carefully from the front seat of the Camaro.

Billy’s movements are stiff, deliberate. He’s much leaner than Steve remembers, and it makes his mouth dry. One thing that hasn’t changed is his hair. It’s perfectly coiffed as ever.

Their silhouettes stand there for a long time, motionless. The boys and El are all watching too. The only noise between them is the sound of Sixteen Candles playing on one of the television displays. Steve’s palms are sweaty.

Then, Max drops her skateboard with an audible clatter, jumping up to throw her arms around her brother’s neck. He doesn’t hesitate, squeezing her against his chest in what Steve would imagine is a crushing hug.

Steve wonders when the last time Billy had been hugged was.

He attempts to swallow the lump in his throat and shifts his weight, eyes still trained on the siblings. Eventually Max released Billy. She picks up her skateboard before moving to the passenger side of the car and getting in. 

Billy opens the driver’s door and pauses for a beat, his face barely visible in the yellow glow of light coming from the store. He’s looking at Steve, expressionless. Steve averts his eyes, trying to look like he wasn’t staring. The car door slams shut a beat later.

When the Camaro finally speeds away, Steve lets loose a breath he didn’t realize he had been holding.

El is by his side now. Steve nearly jumps out of his skin, not having noticed her approach. He looks at her face and her eyebrows are quirked, eyes narrowed just so. “What?” He asks.

El shrugs. “You tell me.”

With an almost-petulant huff, Steve looks away. “Hey, you’re the one who can read minds, not me.”

“I can’t, anymore. It’s... weird,” she muses. “It was easier before, knowing.”

“I bet. At least I know you’re not rummaging around in my thoughts anymore.” Steve smiles a little, glancing at El from the corner of his eye. “Here,” he says, handing her a Crunch bar from the box on the counter. “Go turn the tv and the lights off. That’s your payment for helping me out. It’s time to take you kids home.”

El attempts to suppress her joy, snatching the candy from his palm. She tears the wrapper open, consuming a third of the bar in a single bite. “I can still see what you think, even if I’m not in your head. Your face tells me.” Grinning, El sprints across the shop to flip the switches. She hollers as she plows into Dustin, causing them both to nearly hit the ground.

Steve chuckles, breathless, not sure whether to be insulted by El telling him he’s easy to read, or to be pleased by how well-adjusted she’s starting to seem. He doesn’t see why he can’t be both.

He moves to count the money in the register, thoughts drifting all the while. He wonders about Billy.

Billy before The Incident would never have let Max hug him. Not to mention how stiff his movements seemed.

Steve’s throat clenches again. He can’t imagine healing from that kind of physical trauma, let alone surviving it. Remembering the way Billy looked that night- soaked in his own blood, tears streaming down his face, hair matted- is enough to make Steve light headed. He swallows again, trying not to let it rattle him.

He tries to ignore how dark it is in the shop, too.


	2. Black Coffee and Cigarettes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Bum a cigarette?”

It’s cold as _fuck_ outside.

November and December has been pretty temperate for Indiana standards, but the winter weather truly arrived in the middle of January.

Steve looks out at the thick clumps of snow floating gently on the wind and sighs. He pulls his scarf tighter around his chin and shuffles to his car. He tugs open the drivers door, ice cracking as it opens. He turns the car on. Steve picks up the ice scraper from his passenger seat and starts removing ice and snow from his windshield, grumbling the whole time.

It’s his day off. He could stay inside and sleep, but no. He just _had_ to run out of food.

One would think that having spent so much time living alone in his formative years, Steve would remember that he needed to buy food regularly. One would be wrong.

After the windshield has been cleared enough, Steve slumps into the front seat, waiting for the car to warm more before driving.

He’s _tired_.

Steve still hasn’t recovered from The Incident. He had trouble sleeping before then, but the night at the mall and everything leading up to it has pushed him ever closer to his breaking point.

He has nightmares of swarms of rats breaking down his door and eating him alive. Of demodogs ripping him limb from limb. Of Nancy being run down by Billy’s car.

He has nightmares of everything that probably _should_ have happened had they been less lucky.

Steve’s waiting for their luck to run out. For something else to happen. For them to die.

It keeps him up at night.

Steve looks at the crumpled sheet of paper in his gloved hand and thinks he should add “caffeinated drinks” to his grocery list.

Once he feels warm air blowing on his face from the vents, Steve throws the car in gear and heads to the grocery store. He’s on autopilot the whole drive, having done it a million times before. His tires only slip once.

Steve parks his car in front of the little grocer downtown, staring out the windshield blankly for a moment. He has to prepare emotionally for grocery shopping in a small town.

Everyone and their mom will want to catch up with him.

Steve sighs and climbs out of the car. He shoves his hands deep into his pockets and walks towards the store’s entrance.

Then, he notices something- er, some _one_ \- out front. It’s Billy, peeling the plastic off of a pack of cigarettes.

He pulls a cigarette from the new pack and places it between his lips, bare fingers clicking his lighter at the end of it. A slight tremor runs through his flushed hands.

Steve doesn’t realize he’s staring until Billy looks up at him. “Harrington,” he grumbles, frowning.

Steve blinks, clearing his throat. He runs a hand through his hair, trying to seem unaffected at being caught staring. “Bum a smoke?” He asks, aiming for casual and landing on strained.

Billy looks at him, eyes wary. He takes another drag and exhales around the cigarette before replying. “Only because you’ve been there for my sister these last couple months.”

“I didn’t know you had a sister,” Steve replies, tone neutral. He suppresses a smirk.

“Shut the fuck up,” he grumbles.

Billy is holding the pack out to him so Steve takes a cigarette. He holds the cigarette to his lips and Billy lights it for him, free hand shielding the end from the wind. The first drag feels _good_. It’s been some time since Steve last smoked. 

The pair stand in silence for some time, occupied by their cigarettes.

“You look like shit,” Billy says after a while.

Steve rolls his eyes. “Thanks, man. You’re one to talk though. You look like a string bean these days.”

Billy scoffs. “ _Yeah_ , cause I died.”

“Almost,” Steve offers, trying to be nonchalant about their morbid topic of discussion.

Steve turns to face Main Street, looking around at their surroundings. The occasional person bustles up the sidewalk, moving quickly to get out of the snow as soon as possible. A few cars are parked here and there along the road.

He notices, though, that he can’t find one car that _should_ be nearby.

“Where’s your car?” Steve looks at Billy from the corner of his eye.

Billy doesn’t return his gaze, instead looking past him. “It doesn’t handle well in snow.”

Steve looks at Billy for a moment, taking him in. He’s less tan then the last time Steve saw him. There also seems to be a new crease between his eyebrows. Most of all, Billy looks tired. He seems to lack the aggressive vigor he had when he first moved to Hawkins. There’s still that trademark spark in his gaze, though. Like some kind of fire is simmering beneath the surface of his placid demeanor. He looks tired, but he exudes restless energy.

“You telling me you walked to town?” Steve takes a deep drag from his cigarette.

“Why?” Billy glares. “You worried about me or somethin’? That’s weak, man.”

Steve’s face flushes with indignation. “It’s snowing worse than it has all winter and you just got out of the hospital. Not to mention you don’t exactly live _close by_.”

Billy rolls his eyes, exhaling through his nose. “Mind your own business, asshole.”

“Whatever.” Steve looks across the street, eyes falling on the small coffee shop that exists there. It gives him an idea. “I’m going to go mind my business over at Jo’s. You should come.” Food can wait a little longer. 

“You asking me on a date, Harrington? That’s pretty fucking gay.” Billy drops the butt of his cigarette, crushing it into the snow with his heel.

“Do you like free coffee or not?” Steve asks, petulant. He’s starting to regret trying to socialize any further with this asshole.

Billy pushes off the wall he’s leaning on, walking towards the coffee shop. “Of course I like free fuckin’ coffee. What kind of moron do you think I am?”

“Ugh.” Slumping his shoulders, Steve follows. _Think of it as charity, Steve. You’re doing something nice for this poor asshole. Be strong._

-

The coffee shop is pretty empty, save for a few regulars tucked into various corners. A young woman stands behind the counter and she greets them as they enter.

Billy walks right up to her and smiles, resting his palm on the counter. “How ya doin’, doll?” He all but purrs, the corner of his mouth pulling up. Steve stands there, watching. He sighs in exasperation, barely resisting the urge to make gagging sounds.

The young woman blushes, casting her eyes away. She twirls a finger in the tight curls of her permed ponytail, giggling. “What can I get started for you two?”

Before Billy can reply, Steve pushes him aside. “I’ll take a large vanilla latte, please.”

Billy glares at Steve, kicking him in the boot. “Just a large coffee for me. Black.”

“Oooh, manly man,” Steve scoffs.

The barista chuckles. She takes down their order and rings the price up in the register. Billy steps back from the counter, letting Steve pay. Steve hands her some cash from his wallet and tells her to keep the change. Then, Steve looks around for a place to sit. 

He finds a low table with two wing-backed chairs sitting empty beside the bay window. Without consulting Billy, he strides over and descends into the more comfortable-looking of the two chairs, glancing back at Billy expectantly as he lags.

Billy walks over and slumps into the chair across from Steve. He folds his arms across his chest, glaring out the window. He kicks a leg of the table with the toe of his boot, bouncing his knee when he gets bored of kicking things.

Steve sits there, quiet, wondering how long Billy’s going to squirm around like a child. He rests his chin on his knuckles.

Bill glares at him. “Why are you being nice to me?”

“Is that what this is? I thought we were having coffee.”

“You’re not as dumb as you look, so act like it, Harrington,” Billy growls.

Steve stretches his legs out beneath the coffee table, casting his gaze over it. He shrugs. “I’m tired, Billy. Tired of the machismo bullshit... tired of a lot of things, actually. We aren’t in high school anymore, and I think we’ve both grown up a lot since the _last_ time you tried to kill me. We don’t have to be friends, but I don’t need any more enemies in this life.”

Billy looks at him, brow furrowed. He keeps his arms across his chest, closed off. The barista brings their drinks and sets them on the table. Billy’s attention is drawn to her and he smirks, offering a wink. She responds with a giggle before departing.

They’re alone again, relatively. Billy has taken to glaring at his cup now. He picks it up and brings it to his lips, and Steve knows it’s way too hot for any sane person to drink.

And yet, Billy downs a mouthful, unfazed.

Billy glances at Steve for a moment, then looks back into his cup. “We aren’t friends,” he mutters.

Steve doesn’t reply, instead opting to pick his own mug up. The warmth of the drink creeps into his fingers, and it’s nice. Even if the company isn’t the best, being around someone else quiets the uneasiness in his head.

For a brief moment, Steve feels somewhat normal. He’s not fighting monsters, not watching people die, and there aren’t even kids with superpowers running around. It’s just him, his latte, and the biggest asshole in Hawkins, Indiana. Maybe even the world.

Steve smirks to himself and says, “Like I’d want to be friends with you anyways.”

He glances at Billy, waiting for a reaction. He’s surprised to find Billy smiling, just a little, behind the rim of his mug.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Good morning! I posted this chapter earlier but I deleted it because I needed to edit some things. Enjoy, and let me know what you think! I love feedback.


	3. Restless

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’d really love to know what you think about this work so far! Leave me a comment <3
> 
> You can also find me on tumblr at Sakura-wagashi if you wanna chat!

Steve doesn’t see Billy for a while after that day they got coffee. He’s not sure how long; the days blur together. His life has become a mix of working, babysitting, coming home to an empty house, trying to sleep, failing, rinse and repeat.

He gets bored being awake for so long.

Tonight, he’s reclined in a lounge chair by his pool, swaddled in a duvet, a half-empty pack of cigarettes clutched to his chest. His head peeks out of the folds of the blanket and he takes a drag of the cigarette in his mouth. His eyes are closed.

He’s _tired_ but not sleepy. He’s almost never sleepy. His eyes trace the constellations blearily as smoke drifts from between his lips. It might be February, but he doesn’t feel cold. He feels numb. Steve flexes his toes just to make sure they’re still there. He takes another drag.

A breeze blows through the surrounding trees, causing their needles to whisper. The sound unsettles him. It reminds him of canine footsteps stalking him through fallen leaves. Steve tilts his head to the right, confirming that his bat is still leaning against the glass table beside his chair. His eyes then drift to the horizon, studying the colors there. Being almost 4 in the morning, it’s not as dark as when Steve came outside. Tinges of pale blue edge the darkness above him.

It won’t be sunrise for another couple hours, but the lightness in the sky puts relaxes Steve. He feels too vulnerable to sleep when it’s dark, but this amount of darkness isn’t as bad.

Steve takes the butt of the cigarette from his lips and drops it into the ash tray on the table. He sets his pack down next to it before standing. With his duvet clutched about his body, Steve picks up his bat and heads inside. He’s trudged a trail into the snow from lounge chair to back door from how often he’s done this, so his duvet doesn’t get too wet brushing over the ground.

Feeling less unsettled, Steve goes to his room and slumps on to his bed. The softness of the pillow beneath his cheek is soothing. He tucks his feet into the duvet and shuts his eyes.

He doesn’t fall asleep, but it’s as peaceful as he’s been in a while.

-

Billy lays on his back, eyes tracing the bumpy texture of the ceiling above his bed. It’s too quiet to be peaceful. He got used to the monotonous hum and beep of hospital machinery in the six months he was there.

Now, the silence of his room borders on painful. His mind races, unable to relax in the vast expanse of nothingness. He’s been “home” for a couple of weeks, but it doesn’t feel the same.

His father won’t look at him, let alone touch him. One time Billy’s fingers brushed his dad’s when he passed him the salt and his dad flinched away like he’d been burned.

But they don’t talk about it. Of course not. Billy just has to live with the fact that he’ll never know exactly why his dad stopped beating him. He has ideas, good ideas, but he’s not certain.

The lack of physical punishment feels weird. It’s not to say he _misses_ the abuse, but the change is abrupt and uncomfortable.

His dad’s behavior towards him isn’t the only thing that’s changed, though. Max is around him a lot more. Sometimes she’ll peek her head into his room if he’s been quiet for a long time, or she’ll hang out with him while he lifts weights.

At dinner the other night, Susan actually _patted_ his head after ladling some potatoes onto his plate. The gentle touch of her slender fingers surprised him, and his chest ached in longing for his own mother.

The worst part is he doesn’t have the energy to tell them all to fuck off. He _wants_ to, but he can’t seem to muster the fire.

Billy’s fingers trace over the contours of his bare chest, feeling the bumps and lines of scarring that gnarl his once-perfect skin. The scars aren’t as bad as they should be, according to the doctors, but they’re still there.

Feeling them beneath his fingertips reminds Billy of the pain of That night. He swallows hard, throat dry, as he tries to banish the memories that still make him ache to the bone. 

A wavering sigh escapes from his lips. Billy squeezes his eyes shut. He feels ruined, Less Than, because of these _goddamn_ scars. His skin was smooth and golden last summer. Now, he’s pale and thin and _damaged_. He feels like a shell of his former self. Muscle mass disappears faster than it can be regained, and six months of being in a hospital bed means you lose a _lot_ of muscle mass.

Billy laments how feeble he feels. He’s angry, because if he hadn’t been forced to move to this _shithole town_ , he could’ve stayed in California and had a _normal_ life.

He groans, kicking his feet petulantly under the covers to release some amount of frustration. Scowling, he thinks of all the fucking people he hates in this _fucking_ town. He hates them because he can’t be normal like they are anymore. He’s seen too much, knows too much.

He thinks of Steve and he hates him too. He hates how normal he seems to act in the wake of other-worldly monsters wreaking havoc on their lives. Not to mention he still looks fine despite all the times Billy’s tried changing that.

Billy resents how difficult it is for himself to move on when Steve seems to be _alright_ already. It makes him want to give Steve something to feel sorry about, if only to make Billy feel less alone in his anger, confusion, and desperation.

Billy knots his fingers into his pillow and he presses it against his face, groaning angrily into the fabric.

He hates feeling so helpless. A deep knot of shame sits heavily in the pit of his stomach. Billy rolls over, sighing.

Moving to Hawkins for his final year of high school was hard. His mom leaving was _hard_. But nearly dying and being near-totally isolated for six months was one of the hardest things he’s ever had to deal with.

Not to mention Carol and Tommy moved to Chicago a couple months ago. A bunch of the guys from the basketball team left for college, too. As far as Billy is concerned, the semblance of a life he managed to cobble together has yet again fallen out from under him, and there’s no way of getting it back.

Billy huffs again, the sound bordering on a whine, and he crushes his pillow with his hands. He’s restless. Being home all day is making him stir crazy, no matter how hard he works out.

He needs a job or something. The sooner he gets one, the sooner he can get out of this pit-stop town and get back to California.

He wants _out_.


	4. Movies

Caffeine. Beautiful, glorious caffeine. Steve can’t get enough. He would carry an IV drip of caffeine around with him if it were possible. Instead, he’ll have to settle for traditional means of consumption.

Work’s been slow today, though that’s not saying much for a small-town video store on a Wednesday afternoon. Steve’s been wilting behind the desk for the last few hours, the drone of some old movie lulling him into a liminal space between sleep and wakefulness. It’s a struggle to keep his head up.

The tinkle of the bell above the door causes his eyes to open, a pulse of adrenaline beating through his veins. He must’ve lost track of time, because it’s just Robin showing up for her shift, which means it’s time for lunch. He sighs in relief as he stands, stretching his arms over his head. His back, arms, and knees crack from the movement. It feels good.

“Thank god,” he mutters as Robin slides behind the counter, taking his seat.

She makes a face, shifting atop the stool. “Ew, it’s warm.”

Steve rolls his eyes, leaning against the counter. “I’ve been sitting on that stool pretty much all day. What do you expect?”

“Well, you _could_ stand up and walk around once and a while.” She shrugs.

“I could. And _you_ could not complain, yet here we are,” he replies dismissively, a smirk pulling at his lips. “I’m taking my lunch. See you in half an hour.”

“Bring me something back.”

Steve wiggles into his coat and heads out the front door, the bell overhead bidding him farewell as he departs. He shoves his hands into his pockets, trying to keep them warm in the cool air.

Finally, it’s time for that caffeine he’s been dreaming of. He heads up the street to Jo’s. A wash of anticipation hits him as he enters the shop, the smell of coffee and baked goods inundating his senses. Sure, he’s had coffee today, but not breakfast. Maybe he’ll get a muffin with his coffee.

There are two baristas in the shop, one cleaning tables and another one behind the counter. Steve approaches, fishing his wallet from his back pocket.

The barista behind the counter turns to Steve as he reaches the register, and she smiles at him. “Welcome. How can I help you today?”

“Uh yeah can I get uh, a large vanilla latte with two extra shots and two blueberry muffins. Please.” Steve unfolds his wallet and pulls out a couple of bills, handing them to the barista once she’s ready to ring him up. He drops the change into the tip jar on instinct and thanks the barista. Before he can turn to find a place to wait, a loud snap echoes in the shop, followed by a stinging pain in the back of his left leg. “Ow!” Steve turns around, aghast.

Billy Hargrove stands there, a damp rag clutched in his hands and a smirk on his lips. “Sup, Harrington?” He greets.

Steve frowns. “Dude, the fuck? That hurt.”

“Duh,” Billy scoffs. “You stalkin’ me?”

“What? I didn’t even know you worked here. By the way, you work here? Since when?” Steve folds his arms over his chest, looking Billy up and down. He is indeed wearing the requisite evergreen half-apron and visor that employees of Jo’s wear. “Also, what’s up with your hair?” Steve gestures, noticing that Billy’s hair is pulled back in a kind of half-up style, his bangs peeking over the top of his visor as well.

Billy shrugs, leaning his hip against a table he had been cleaning. “I started working here about a week ago. And it was either cut my hair or tie it up, and I’m nothing without my hair so I tied it up.” He fiddles with the rag passively, fingers of his left hand picking with the frayed edges of it. His eyes glitter with a kind of mirth Steve hasn’t seen in him since the last he was pummeled within an inch of his life.

Steve pushes that thought away, attempting instead to keep himself in the present. He chuckles, rubbing his hand over the back of his neck. “Alrighty then.” The other barista calls out Steve’s name and he turns to find his order sitting on the counter. He picks up the bag of muffins in his left hand and the latte in his right and turns back to Billy. “Um, I’ll see you around?”

“Probably.”

“Alright... see ya,” Steve gestures farewell with his drink. Steve leaves the coffee shop, returning to his own place of work to prey upon one of the sweet, helpless blueberry muffins in his bag. He hands Robin the other one.

“Thanks,” she smiles at him, taking a large bite of it. Steve pulls up the extra stool behind the counter and sits with her, removing the lid from his latte. He dips the top of his muffin into the drink and takes a bite. In this moment, he can imagine nothing more delectable. It just tastes so _right_. Steve groans, taking another ravenous bite of the baked good.

Through a mouth full of food, Steve says, “So Billy works at the coffee shop now.” A crumb falls from his mouth.

Robin turns her head to Steve, hair flouncing as she does. “Really? Did he poison your drink?”

“Nah, he didn’t make it.”

She hums in response. “He could have an accomplice, you know. He had Heather helping him last summer.”

Steve scoffs. “They were both flayed, Robin. I don’t think he still has that kind of power.”

“He’s very charismatic, you know. I’m sure he could convince some girl to put a little cyanide in your drink. Are you tasting almonds?”

Steve laughs, head tilted back. “No, Robin, I’m fine. You gonna eat that?” He gestures to the bottom part of her muffin left in its wrapper.

Robin shakes her head. “The top is the only good part.”

“Nope, uh uh. Wrong. Jo’s muffins are good the whole way through,” he proclaims, leaning over and snatching the last of her muffin. After unwrapping it, he dunks it in his latte and shoves the whole chunk into his mouth.

They sit in silence for a while, Robin flipping through their catalogue of movies and penciling little marks next to a title every so often. Steve leans over and observes. “You choosing staff picks?”

“Yeah.”

“You should pick _Who’s That Girl_ , too.”

“Dude, seriously?”

“Um, _yeah_. It’s good.”

Robin laughs, obviously preparing to mock him. “No, it’s not.”

Steve frowns, folding his arms petulantly over his chest. “Even if you don’t think it is, I’m an employee too and it’s employee picks, Robin, not Robin’s Picks.”

“Yes, but you’re on lunch break, Steve. I couldn’t let you work on your break in good conscience, now could I? And this definitely counts as work.”

“Are you fucking kidding me?”

“Sorry,” she grins, shrugging. “I don’t make the rules.”

“I’m putting it on the shelf the moment I’m off my break.”

“I’d like to see you try.”

-

“Alright Robin, I’m heading home,” Steve calls from the back room. “You know where we keep the crowbar in case you need it.” He pulls his jacket on as he walks through the storeroom door. He stops in the doorway, surprised to see Billy standing in the shop. He’s chatting it up with Robin. She’s smirking at him, her chin in her palm. 

“What are you doing here, Billy?” Steve says flatly, exasperated by his ever-flirty demeanor.

“Oh, you know, just getting to know Robin a little bit better. Don’t be jealous, Steve.”

Steve guffaws, walking to stand by Robin. He drops his hand on her shoulder. “Oh _please_. I wouldn’t be jealous even if I thought she were interested in you, which I can assure you she is not.”

“Spoken for, are we?” Billy smiles coyly at Robin.

Robin’s smirk widens into a grin. She shrugs. “No, but I _am_ gay.”

Billy’s smile shifts from seductive to amused. He laughs, a breathless sound. “Fair enough.”

Steve stands there, jaw practically on the floor. He is surprised to see Robin out herself so casually, especially considering it took _literal truth serum_ to get her to tell Steve. Apparently, he stands there long enough for both Billy and Robin to notice. Billy laughs again. “Don’t be rude, Harrington. Have you never met a gay person before?”

Rolling his eyes, Steve sighs. “I knew before you did, asshole. Are we done here? Can I go home? My shift was over ten minutes ago.”

“Well, about that,” Billy says. “I need a ride.”

“What? Why can’t you just walk? I don’t owe you anything,” Steve whines.

“Because I’m tired, Harrington. Come on, it’s on the way to your place anyways.” Billy turns away from the counter, walking towards the entrance. He pauses, examining a shelf to his left. “Whose staff pick is _Who’s That Girl_?” Billy asks the room, clearly disgusted.

Robin spins on her seat to face Steve, a smug look written all over her face. “I’ll give you one guess,” she replies.

“Come _on_ , Steve, really? I almost don’t want a ride from you anymore.”

Steve sighs. “Fine by me. Have fun walking home.”

“I said almost. I’ll be at your car. Hurry up,” Billy waves to the room as he exits, heading to Steve’s car.

Steve turns back to Robin. “Why was it so easy for you to come out to _him_ when it took you being given _literal Russian truth serum_ to get you to tell _me_?”

Robin leans her back against the counter, still seated on her stool. “I know this town, Steve, and I know the people in it. I’m more scared of telling someone from Nowhere, Indiana that I’m gay than I am of telling someone from Southern California, the gay mecca of America, that I’m into women.” She pauses for a moment, eyes tracing over Steve’s features.

He feels a little awkward, not having considered how difficult it might be to be gay in a small town. It makes the back of his neck hot as he thinks more about it. Robin interrupts his thoughts, speaking up. “Besides,” she starts, “it seems to me like Billy might be compensating for something. Now, I’m not saying he’s gay, because I don’t think he is, but he flirts with anything that wears a skirt. It makes me wonder what he’s repressing…” She trails off, staring past Steve’s head.

“Um…” Steve suddenly feels dumb, like his brain has leaked out of his ears. The sudden knowledge of just how perceptive Robin is when Steve would never notice something like that makes him wonder just how easily she can read _him_. He’s now very conscious of how he’s standing, how he’s breathing, how his hair is sitting on his head. He feels naked in her presence. “Alright, well, you have successfully scared the shit out of me. Is everybody that easy to read?”

“Oh yeah. Definitely.” She grins. “I’ll see you later, Steve. Have fun on your ride,” she hums, waggling her eyebrows at him.

Steve’s face feels hot. He averts his gaze, muttering a goodbye as he heads towards the front door. The gust of cold air that comes with stepping outside cools his skin somewhat.

He unlocks his car and shoves his keys into the ignition, turning it until the engine starts. Billy gets into the passenger seat, leaning against the door once it’s closed. He sits with his hands in his lap, gazing out the front windshield of the beemer at the video store. The pair sit in silence while the car warms up. Steve wonders if Billy can read people like Robin can. After a moment of toying with this idea, he scoffs. There’s no way that that meathead is perceptive in any sense of the word. Once warm air starts flowing from the AC vents, Steve shifts the car into reverse and backs out of the lot, then heading up the road through town. He scans through the radio, choosing the local rock station and keeping the sound at a relatively low level.

“Robin’s pretty cool,” Billy says after a while of driving.

Steve nods. “She’s pretty cool.” This sucks. He fucking hates small talk.

Billy reaches for the dashboard, turning up the radio. “So, you have good taste in music, but awful taste in movies. What’s up with that?”

“Fuck you,” Steve grumbles. He hunches his shoulders, trying to ignore his passenger.

“All I’m saying is you’re not a completely lost cause. I think your film tastes can be rehabbed. You just gotta watch some good movies.”

“I watch movies every day at work. I like what I like, Hargrove.” Steve huffs, petulant. “Besides, _Who’s that girl_ isn’t a bad movie!”

Billy drums his fingers on his thigh, leaning his head back against the headrest and closing his eyes. “You’re right. It’s a fucking horrible movie.”

“Pshh. You just don’t like rom-coms.”

“Wrong. Rom-coms are fine. I fucking hate Madonna. She should not be an actress. Honestly, she shouldn’t even be a singer.”

Steve blinks. “Dude, she is so hot right now. How can you say that? Everyone loves Madonna.”

“She’s so _mainstream_! There are so many better musicians out there. Calling her a musician is an offense to people with actual talent.”

“Wow! Wow. You’re ballsy coming after Madonna like this. I bet you actually like her deep down.”

Billy scoffs, a smirk turning the corner of his mouth up. “No way. She sucks.”

Steve laughs. “Alright, whatever you say.”

They fall into another bout of silence, though this time it’s comfortable. Steve’s mind wanders as he drives, thinking of nothing in particular. Then, a question floats to the surface in his mind. “What changed between us?” Realizing how that might sound weird, Steve attempts to explain himself. “I- I mean, like, um, why don’t you try to beat me up like you used to love to do? Why don’t you hate me like that anymore?”

Even from the corner of his eye Steve can tell Billy looks perplexed. “What, do you miss having your face caved in or somethin’?”

“N-no. I just don’t get what changed. I’m still the same person I was when you moved to Hawkins.”

Billy doesn’t immediately answer. He turns his head to look out the window. His face is still turned away when he responds. “I guess… it’s like you said. We aren’t in high school anymore. I’m pretty sure I already proved how much cooler I am than you, so I don’t really need to try anymore,” Billy forces a chuckle, and Steve assumes he’s supposed to interpret that as a joke. More silence. Then, Billy says, “I don’t have to explain myself or anything to you, Harrington. I dunno. Maybe almost dying knocked something loose in my brain or something. I don’t know. Whatever. It’s not that deep.” Billy folds his arms over his chest.

The silence between them doesn’t last long this time around because Billy’s house finally comes into view. Steve stops at the end of the driveway and Billy gets out. He leans back into the car and looks at Steve. His gaze is sharp, and it knocks the breath from Steve’s lungs. Billy shifts his weight and licks his lips, seeming to contemplate what he’s about to say.

“I’m gonna come over on Saturday night ‘n we’re gonna watch some good movies. You need help.”

Steve blusters in protest. “You don’t even know if I already have plans for Saturday night!”

Billy rolls his eyes, leveling Steve with an unimpressed stare. “Do you?”

Steve looks away, frowning. “… No.”

“That’s what I thought. I’ll see you Saturday, Harrington. You better have food and booze.” And with that, Billy slams the car door shut, walking up the driveway. His hands are shoved into his jacket pockets. Steve watches him until he goes inside. Then, Steve stares at the road in front of him for a while.

“What the fuck?”

-

Billy never said what time he was going to come over. Steve starts to anticipate a knock at the front door around 6 o’clock. Billy doesn’t arrive until 7:43.

Steve is laying on the couch, watching cable tv when Billy arrives. He hears the doorknob jiggle above the sounds of the tv, and it makes Steve sit bolt upright, nearly upending the bowl of Doritos in his lap. Then, the doorbell rings and Steve rises. He looks through the glass pane at the top of the door to see Billy standing on the porch. Steve opens the door.

“Did you just try the fucking handle?”

“Yeah. I figured people didn’t keep their doors locked in this town.”

Steve raises his eyebrows. “After everything you’ve experienced here- after everything you know _I’ve_ seen, you really expect me to leave my door _unlocked_? You’re crazy. Come inside before I change my mind. You’re letting the heat out.” Steve steps aside to let Billy pass. “Take your shoes off.”

Billy takes in his surroundings, eyebrows raised. “Your mom gonna kill me if I don’t?”

“Yeah, probably.”

Billy shrugs. He kicks his boots off, leaving them in a wet jumble next to Steve’s family’s shoes. Billy walks further into the house, finding the living room through the arch to his left. He makes himself comfortable on the couch, kicking his feet up on the coffee table. Steve enters the living room just after. He picks his half-drunk beer up and takes a swig. He hands Billy one, too. In return, Billy hands Steve a plastic bag. Steve looks inside to see about six VHS tapes inside.

“Pick one,” Billy offers. He cracks the lid off his beer with the blunt edge of a folded knife proffered from his pocket. “Can I smoke in here?” He pulls his pack of cigarettes out as he asks.

“If you share,” Steve replies. He shoves his hand into the bag, picking the first movie he touches. It ends up being _High Plains Drifter_. The edges of the sleeve are worn smooth. It seems like it’s been watched quite a few times. Steve shakes the tape from the sleeve and pushes it into the VCR, pressing the ‘play’ button. He drops the plastic bag next to the console center. Steve stands and turns to Billy who hands him a cigarette. Steve places it between his lips and leans down to let Billy light it. Steve walks around the coffee table and slumps into his corner of the couch, taking a drag from his cigarette.

The pair enjoy the film in silence, the sound only broken up by the crunching of chips and sipping of beer.

_High Plains Drifter_ is a pretty good movie, Steve will admit it. The next two movies are also pretty good. He’s surprised that Billy could find so many movies Steve hasn’t seen, especially considering he works at a video store. Between movies, the pair discuss parts the liked, what they found funny, and whatever else they can think of.

It’s comfortable.

Steve feels more relaxed than he has in a while. He’s pleasantly buzzed and full of junk food. A cigarette hangs loosely from his lips.

Keeping the bat under the couch feels a bit foolish in retrospect.

Billy stretches his arms over his head and sighs. He stands up. “I think that’s enough for one night. I gotta get going.” He picks up the plastic bag with the tapes, heading towards the front hall.

Steve stands and follows him. “You need a ride?”

“Nah, I drove. The roads are plowed fine.”

“Okay well, are you good to drive? You can crash on the couch if you need to.”

Billy slips his boots on, leaning against the wall for support. “’m fine.”

He does seem fine, but Steve doesn’t really want him to go. The house is too quiet when he’s alone. Steve keeps his mouth shut.

Steve opens the door for Billy. He walks past, stopping a step down from the porch. He looks over his shoulder at Steve for a quiet moment. The moon illuminates Billy’s face and hair with silver light, sharp shadows falling beneath his chiseled features.

“We should do this again some time,” Billy mutters.

“Yeah,” Steve replies. They stand, looking passively at one another for a moment. Billy turns and walks down the steps. “Bye, Billy,” Steve mutters to his back. He shuts the front door and locks it, fingers lingering against the door as he absorbs the evening.

He’s tired.

Steve walks to the living room and retrieves the bat from under the couch. He climbs the stairs and crawls into bed, leaving the bat leaning against his nightstand. Steve lays in bed for a while, staring at the crack of light bleeding through his curtains. After a while, his eyelids feel heavy. He gives into the weight of them, letting his eyes slide shut.

Steve sleeps until the sun rises, feeling well-rested for the first time in months.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay in updating! I had midterms last week and didn't have time to write. Hopefully the content of this chapter made up for it! Thanks, as always, for reading and giving me feedback!


	5. Regrets

Billy returns home from work at around 2:30. The house is silent. Max is at school, his dad is working, and Susan is probably running errands. The peace of a quiet house again reminds him of how stoked he is to work at a place where he can do a full shift _and_ come home in time for some fucking _silence_.

Billy strides over to his room, shutting the door behind him and locking it. He moves to his stereo and pops open the cassette holder, checking to see what’s inside. Satisfied with the Metallica cassette within, he shuts it and presses the power button. Music blares from the speakers. He turns up the volume, nodding his head to the beat. He reaches behind the stereo system and feels around until his fingers brush against cool metal. He pulls an old red tobacco tin from behind the stereo and shakes it. Coins jingle about inside.

Billy turns and slumps into his couch. He pulls out his wallet and sets it on his leg. He then opens the tin. Inside is a roll of bills atop a small pile of coins. A small piece of paper is wedged between the rubber band and the money. Billy sits there for a moment, just looking. His heart is pounding and it nearly drowns out the music flooding the room. Billy squeezes the roll in his hand, feeling it, making sure it’s real. He slips the paper from the rubber band and smooths it over his thigh. Then, he pulls the band off of the money and lays it out on the couch to his left. Billy opens his wallet and withdraws the money he got from cashing his paycheck earlier. He fans the bills out and does some mental math, putting around a quarter of it back into his wallet. The rest, he adds to his stack. He writes down how much he has added on the paper with a stubby pencil he finds in the crack of the cushions.

Billy adds up all the numbers on the sheet- money saved from working at the coffee shop and at the pool last summer- and bites his lip when he sees the final number. He counts the stack of bills to confirm his math. It’s right.

A shaky sigh of relief sneaks from Billy’s parted lips. He allows himself a small smile.

He’s finally done it. He’s finally saved enough money to get the fuck out of Hawkins. It’s only a little over four thousand dollars (four thousand and twenty-three dollars and sixty-seven cents to be exact, thank you very much), but it’s enough to get him situated and covered until he can get a job in California.

It’s what he’s been working towards since he got here.

Tilting his head back against the wall, he laughs. He squeezes the money in his hand. A profound feeling of relief flows through his veins. He feels light. Fuck, he feels _high_. He can leave any time he wants, Neil Hargrove be damned. 

He can go home.

Billy can’t sit still. There’s so much adrenaline in his body it makes his palms tingle.

Billy rolls the money back up with the paper and replaces it in the tin, this time shoving it under his mattress. He never leaves it in the same spot, just in case.

After washing his hands, Billy comes back to his room. He strips his shirt off and stands in front of his mirror, staring at his reflection. The scars are still there, of course, though that’s not what he’s looking at. Since he got out of the hospital he’s been lifting every day. It was so frustrating in the beginning when he could barely even lift the bar of the set. Now, he almost recognizes himself again. His chest is taught, pecs firm beneath the gnarled skin. His shoulders are broad, and they lead to impressive biceps. Billy clenches his right fist and flexes his arm, running the fingers of his left hand over his bicep. He looks himself over, relieved at what he sees. He bites back a smile.

Even though he’s happy with his progress, he doesn’t plan on slacking. He spends the next few hours lifting until his arms are dead. The workout doesn’t get rid of all his pent up excitement, though.

He wants to celebrate.

-

Billy takes the steps two at a time. He jams his thumb against the doorbell and holds it, hearing the chimes inside the house continuing to ring. Then, footsteps within. Billy keeps holding the doorbell. The door swings open and a very annoyed Steve appears in the doorway. He glares until he recognizes Billy. He raises his eyebrows in surprise before glaring again. Billy releases the doorbell. He smirks, sliding his hands into his pockets.

“Dude, what the fuck?” Steve asks. He puts his hands on his hips.

From the living room, a female voice calls, “Who’s at the door?” Billy can tell it’s Robin.

“It’s just Billy,” Steve responds.

“Let’s go drink at the quarry,” Billy says. “I have alcohol.”

Steve rolls his eyes and sighs. “I’m watching movies with Robin.”

“That’s fine. She can come too. Let’s go.”

Before Steve can protest, a thud comes from the living room and Robin shuffles into the front hall. “I hear you have free booze. I’m listening.”

Steve looks over his shoulder at Robin. She doesn’t meet his gaze.

“I want to go have a bonfire at the quarry. You guys should come,” Billy says to Robin.

Robin begins shoving her feet into her tennis shoes before even replying. “Sounds fun. Get your shoes on Steve, the movies can wait for another time.”

Steve whines, tilting his head back. “But I was _cosy_. Do we have to?”

“Yes,” Billy replies. “I have blankets in my car. You’ll be fine.”

Robin slips her coat on and pushes past Steve, walking down the front steps towards Billy’s idling car. “Come on, Steve!” She calls.

With another huff, Steve pulls his coat on, jamming his feet into a pair of black boots. He doesn’t bother to tie them. He plucks his keys from their place, pulling the door shut behind himself and locking it. Steve looks warily at Billy. “If I’m cold, I’m going to complain.”

“I’m used to it,” Billy replies, quirking the left side of his mouth up in a smirk. He nods his head towards the car. “Let’s go.”

Once the trio are in the car, Steve in the back seat, they head for the quarry. They don’t go down into the basin, but rather to the top edge.

Billy drives them to the general vicinity and parks his car off the side of the road, just before the thick line of trees resumes. Hawkins kids have been having bonfires at the top of the quarry for generations. The deep wear of tire treads in the dirt says as much.

The trio clamber from the car and collect some things from the trunk. Steve picks up an armful of blankets, Billy grabs a case of beer and a flask, and Robin grabs the plastic bag of snacks Billy picked up earlier in the day. They traipse through the woods until it clears a little, the still black waters of the quarry appearing past the edge of the cliff.

Billy sets the drinks on the ground and works to clear a place for a fire. He kicks pine needles away in a large swath, and rolls a couple logs over to bracket the area. He creates a right angle with the logs, situating them in such a way that the quarry will be visible when sitting down. Then, he goes back into the trees to find some good wood to burn.

Steve immediately plops down on one of the logs, a blanket draped over his shoulders and the other two placed in his lap. Robin drops the snacks beside the drinks and walks around the area, picking up any dry sticks she can find. She places them in a pile in the center of the cleared area. Billy returns with a hulking armful of wood. He drops them with a grunt beside their kindling pile, kneeling down to organize them in a frame over the kindling.

Robin picks up Billy’s silver flask and flicks the lid off, taking a deep swig from it. She hands it to Steve next. Billy can hear Steve cough over his shoulder when he takes a sip. “Ugh- that’s like rubbing alcohol.”

“It’s cheap,” Billy replies, nonchalant. He brings his cheek close to the cool earth, blowing on the tiny flame he managed to create with his pocket lighter. After a few minutes of stoking and adjusting the wood, the fire no longer seems to be in danger of going out. Billy leans another log against the others and allows the fire to do what it wants. He stands and gets himself a beer, cracking it open with his pocket knife. After taking a deep drink, he goes over and sits down on the log to the right of Steve and Robin’s. He kicks his feet out towards the fire.

The trio sit in silence for a while, all watching as the flames creep up the exterior logs, setting them ablaze. Robin leans over to Billy and hands him his flask. He takes a sip of it, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand after. He rests his elbows on his knees, dangling his beer between his legs. 

“You guys ever think about leaving?” Billy asks.

Steve scoffs. “I don’t plan on working in a video store until I die, if that’s what you’re asking.”

Robin nods her agreement.

“If you left, where’d you go? What would you do?” Billy looks over at Steve.

Steve opens his mouth as if to reply but hesitates. He’s looking at Billy, a distinctly unsure look pinching his features. He closes his mouth and returns his gaze to the fire.

Robin rests her chin in her hands, her elbows on her knees. “I want to do something with languages,” she says to Billy. “It would be cool to work at the UN or something.”

Billy nods. “Cool.”

“What about you?” Robin asks.

Billy gazes at the brown glass of his bottle, eyes tracing the ripples and curves. He mulls the words around in his head. “I want to go back to California. Start a surf school or something.” There’s no ‘or something’ about it in his mind. Opening a surf school has been Billy’s dream since the first time his mom stood him up on a board. His heart aches in his chest when he thinks of her.

Billy is pulled from his thoughts when he hears Steve snicker. He glares at Steve and growls, “What’s so funny, Harrington?”

Steve looks at Billy, expression mirthful. “You want to open a surf school in California. It’s just so cliche.”

Billy’s grip tightens around his bottle. His expression grows darker, a deep frown setting on his lips. He shoots up from the log and takes two quick strides to Steve, pulling him up by a handful of his shirt. Steve rises like a rag doll, so shocked that he’s not quick enough to react to the aggression. Billy brings his face close to Steve’s. For a moment, all he does is stare. He’s seething. He contemplates bashing Steve’s face in. It’s tempting. His skin tingles with a fury he hasn’t known in months.

“At least I have goals,” is all he says before he releases Steve’s shirt, shoving him in the chest at the same time. Billy turns and walks away from the bonfire.

He stops at the edge of the cliff a few hundred yards away and sits down, letting his legs dangle over the edge. He lights a cigarette, taking a deep drag. He washes down the taste with the last of his beer. Billy looks out over the quarry. His brain feels staticky with the anger still in his veins. He winds his arm back and flings the empty glass bottle as hard as he can, watching as it flies out over the water. It falls for a few seconds before cracking audibly on the surface. Its pieces sink into the murky water, like all things do.

The cigarette calms his nerves some. Billy’s eyes trace the constellations overhead. If he just looks at the stars, he can almost pretend like he’s back on a beach in California. Then, a chilling breeze licks at his hair, sending a shiver up his spine. The facade is gone as fast as it came. Billy shuts his eyes. He thinks of sun-warmed sand under his palms and the smell of salt on a warm breeze. In reality, cold dirt and pine-tinged air greet his senses. It’s almost enough to bring him to tears. Almost.

Billy takes another shuddering drag of his cigarette. With a sigh, he drops his head into his hands. His fingers run through his hair and land on his neck, squeezing the cool skin there. He laces his fingers together and sits in a slump for a while. 

His sulking is only interrupted by the sound of footsteps approaching.

“Hey,” Steve says. Billy groans. He doesn’t move. “I’m sorry.”

“Fuck you and fuck off.”

“Come on,” Steve protests. He sounds annoyed. “I really am sorry. It wasn’t cool.”

Billy scoffs. He unfolds himself, leaning back on his hands. He looks over at Steve. “Yep.” The cigarette in his mouth bounces a little when he speaks. His eyes feel glassy, so he blinks hard to shunt the mist away. 

Steve shifts his weight from foot to foot. He looks uncomfortable. “I’m not good at this,” he mutters, eyes averted.

“I can tell.”

Steve frowns. Silence. Then, quietly, Steve asks, “You really gonna go back to California?”

“Yeah.” Billy takes another drag.

“When?”

Billy raises his eyebrows. He rubs his hand over his chin and his jaw, thinking for a minute. He has the money to leave _tomorrow_ , but something tells him that’s not the right answer. There’s something fragile happening between them right now and Billy’s not so sure he wants to break it. Though, even if he doesn’t want to, he’s clumsy. Shit happens. Something he knows from experience is that his foot sure isn’t too big to fit inside his mouth. “I don’t know,” is what he settles on. “Maybe in a couple months.”

Steve nods. Billy can tell that his eyes are on the ground, even in the dark.

Billy stands. Steve looks at him. They stare at each other in the dim light. The fire flickers a distance behind Steve. Robin still sits on a log, her face clearly pointed towards them. “You really don’t have any plans for the future?”

Steve scoffs, a sad smile on his face. “No. There were times these past couple years where I didn’t think I’d live to see graduation, Billy. It’s hard to plan for a future you don’t think you’ll get to have.”

The sincerity of the statement makes Billy feel a little awkward. He’d be lying if he said he didn’t understand, though.

“What would you do, if you could do anything?”

“I don’t know. Go to college, probably? I just don’t have the grades for it.”

“You could always go to community college,” Billy suggests. He shoves his hands into his pockets and shrugs.

Steve sighs. “The closest one’s in Bloomington.”

“You say that like it’s a bad thing. Don’t you wanna get out of this shithole town?”

“Yeah.”

“Then fuck Bloomington. There are community colleges in other states.”

Steve looks quizzical. “What are you trying to say?”

“I’m saying getting out of dodge isn’t you going to the next biggest town, it’s more than that. Do what you want, but if you wanna get gone and _stay_ gone, maybe move out of Indiana. This place is fucked up.” Billy walks past Steve towards the bonfire. He picks up a couple of dry branches on the way and throws them atop the fire when he returns. He grabs the open bag of chips by Robin’s leg and stuffs a handful into his mouth.

Billy’s not going to have a bad night tonight. He refuses.

-

Around 1a.m, the trio decides to call it a night. They shuffle back to Billy’s car, tired and a little buzzed, the ghosts of earlier smiles lingering on their lips. Robin slumps deep into the passenger seat, one of the blankets bundled over her. Steve sits in the back, but he leans forward between the front seats, his cheek resting against the shoulder of the driver’s seat. Billy drives them back to Steve’s place, a bit more cautiously than if he were sober. Robin says her farewells and drives away at about two miles per hour down the empty suburban street. Steve trudges up the front steps of his house. Billy follows. When he tries to unlock the door, he misses a couple times. Eventually he gets it, the door creaking open slowly when he pushes.

Billy watches in silence. He runs a hand through his hair, pushing it from his face.

Steve turns to him. “Wanna come in for some coffee?” He leans against the doorframe.

Billy raises his eyebrows. He’s heard that line before, but it’s usually a girl saying it to him. And she usually wants to fuck. It confuses him to hear it in this situation, because Steve certainly doesn’t mean it that way. “Uh, sure,” he replies. He walks up the steps and slides past Steve. He waits until Steve shuts the door behind them before he begins removing his shoes.

Steve stands close to his right, the width of the hallway limiting their space. “Why’d you wanna hang out tonight anyway?”

Billy straightens, his shoes finally off. He tilts his head, looking at Steve. “What, I’m not allowed to wanna drink with my friends sometime? I always gotta call first?”

Steve shrugs. “I guess not,” he concedes. “I’m glad you did.”

Billy blinks. He feels his face warm and averts his gaze. “Um,” He clears his throat. “Yeah, me too. It was fun.”

“Yeah.” Steve smiles a little.

Billy feels hyper-aware of himself in this moment. He feels warm all over, can feel Steve’s breath on his face. He doesn’t know what to do with his hands. They hang limp by his side. Steve pushes his fingers through his hair, his blanket slipping down his shoulders with the movement. Instinctively, Billy reaches out to pull the blanket back up. Steve adjusts his grip on the blanket and his hand brushes against Billy’s. Steve’s fingers are cold, but Billy doesn’t pull away. He can feel that tension between them again as they look at each other.

He’s felt this a couple times in the past with a few girls, but only ever one guy: Dane O’Donnell. They would hang out after school and surf together on the weekends. Billy and Dane grew up next door to each other, so they were in each other’s homes pretty much daily. There were a couple times, in Billy's opinion, where they had almost kissed.

His dad had been suspicious of them, but because they never did anything there was no way of getting caught. Billy speculates his relationship with Dane is part of why their dad decided to uproot the family in the middle of a school year.

Billy remembers the kind of regret he stewed in the whole drive across this goddamn country at leaving things unsaid between them. It’s almost painful to think about still. He doesn’t want to feel that way ever again, feeling like he’s missed some important connection. Billy brings his other hand up and fists the front of Steve’s blanket, pulling Steve in and pressing their lips together, eyes sliding shut. He can feel Steve tense under his grip when he realizes what’s happening. It makes Billy pull away. His eyes scan Steve’s face, searching, trying to understand what that reaction was. He’s never felt so uncertain about kissing someone before. It feels like the floor is falling out from under his feet.

Steve looks almost scared. “Billy,” he breathes. “What the fuck?”

Billy releases Steve’s blanket and it falls to the floor. Before Billy can wrench the door open and flee, Steve grabs his shoulders and pushes him to the wall, crushing their lips together once more. It takes his breath away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let me know what you think! I may make a couple grammar edits to this, but I wanted to get it out before it was too late in the day. And of course, I do not condone driving while intoxicated!


End file.
